


Until I Believe It

by smarshtastic



Series: SALTapalooza [9]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dirty Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Getting Together, M/M, Mission Fic, Pining, Pre-Relationship, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-11-11
Packaged: 2019-01-31 19:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12688686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smarshtastic/pseuds/smarshtastic
Summary: They’ve been using a network of clubs to launder money and conceal their other illicit business activities, and Blackwatch finally has enough evidence against the gang to warrant an operation. The strike team split off into pairs, each of them tackling a different club across the district. Gabe paired himself with McCree.---An undercover mission as a couple brings all of Gabe's feelings for Jesse McCree to the surface.





	Until I Believe It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fabrega](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabrega/gifts).



> Week Eight of [SALTapalooza](https://saltapalooza.tumblr.com/)! This is a fourteen part series that will update every Saturday for the next six weeks. 
> 
> This was really just an excuse to have them grind on each other and then it got out of hand ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Warnings for mentions of GHB and human trafficking - just in case! 
> 
> Feel free to come yell at [me](https://twitter.com/smarshtastic/) or [fabrega](https://twitter.com/carithlee) about this on twitter. :D

The club scene isn’t exactly Gabe’s thing. Even when he was younger, the thought of hundreds of sweaty bodies, sticky floors, loud music and (exorbitantly priced!) spilled liquor all crammed into a tight, dark, hot space was not appealing. Which isn’t to say that there weren’t nights when he’d accompany his fellow recruits to a club - Gabe had been a normal adult male with hormones and needs, thank you - but it wasn’t exactly his first choice of venue for a night out. 

Nowadays, Gabe is almost certainly too old for this scene. The music is loud, rattling in his head, making it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t quite make out the exit routes, even though they had looked at the blueprints of the club thoroughly before they moved in. There are too many drunk people jammed together, spilling over from the dance floor into every available space. It is, in fact, a fire hazard. 

The gang Blackwatch is trying to take down has a long and sordid track record of drug smuggling, but have, of late, appeared to be dabbling in human trafficking. They’ve been using a network of clubs to launder money and conceal their other illicit business activities, and Blackwatch finally has enough evidence against the gang to warrant an operation. The strike team split off into pairs, each of them tackling a different club across the district. Gabe paired himself with McCree. 

If anyone asked, Gabe could give a thousand reasonable explanations as to why he doled out the assignments they way he did. There seems to be something going on with Valdez and Edwards these days, which means pairing them together would likely result in Edwards coming back with a black eye - and not because of their mission assignment. Shiga’s the most easygoing of the rest of the strike team, which makes him the natural choice to pair with Edwards. Prithi balances out Valdez’s stubbornness, which leaves McCree to Gabe. 

It’s  _ certainly _ not because Gabe is playing favorites. 

In fact, Jesse McCree is kind of a pain to have as a mission partner. He always seems to half-listen to the parameters, or forgets them halfway through, and ends up improvising himself out of tricky situations,  _ which he would have avoided _ had he actually stuck to the plan in the first place. But Gabe can’t really hold McCree’s talent for improvisation against him - it’s saved missions from certain failure on more than one occasion, not to mention the handful of times it’s saved Gabe himself. Even though Gabe likes to plan for every eventuality, it’s McCree’s ability to think on his feet that makes him a more than capable agent. McCree is Blackwatch’s best for a reason. 

Gabe tells himself that he’s assigned McCree to himself so that he can keep an eye on him. So that maybe McCree will actually play by the rules, for once. 

But, as Gabe’s eyes follow McCree as he slips through the crowd of clubgoers, Gabe knows it’s a faint hope layered over a flimsy excuse to keep McCree close to him. McCree is  _ good _ at what he does - that, in itself, is reason enough to be a little selfish. They’ve always worked well together, startlingly well, really. They anticipate each other’s movements and instincts like it’s second nature. It stands to reason, after so many years of working side by side. In spite of all of Gabe’s half-hearted complaints, Gabe respects McCree’s abilities and professionalism. Besides, he likes McCree’s company. 

Gabe is sitting off to the side of the dance floor, observing. McCree sways up to Gabe with a drink in both hands. He’s grinning, cheeks flushed. A strand of hair has escaped the gel he’s used to slick back his short hair - it looks ridiculous, flopped over his forehead. 

“Why the long face, huh?” McCree asks, loud enough to be heard over the music. He holds one of the drinks out to Gabe. Gabe frowns at it. 

“What are you doing?” Gabe asks. McCree wiggles the drink in front of him. 

“Drink up. You’re sticking out like a sore thumb, sweetheart.”

Gabe pretends not to notice the way his heart skips a beat at the endearment. He narrows his eyes at McCree. 

“We’re on a job.”

“Are you tellin’ me that stuff you got inside you doesn’t keep your head on straight?” he asks. Gabe makes a face and snatches the drink out of McCree’s hands. McCree has no right looking so pleased with himself. “Listen, I sweet-talked the bartender. She said the big boss would be in later tonight.”

Gabe takes a sip of his drink to pretend he’s not pleased by McCree’s competence. He  _ shouldn’t _ be - McCree has proven time after time that he’s a valuable asset - but the way that he still, somehow, manages to constantly surprise Gabe is an absolute delight. 

“You sure it’s the same guy we’re looking for?” Gabe asks. McCree bobs his head, taking a sip of his own drink. 

“Yep. I gotta hunch the bartender’s in on it too, but I ain’t too sure yet,” McCree says, tilting his head to the side.

“Then we wait,” Gabe says. 

“You can’t just sit here,” McCree says. “You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Gabe says, making a face. McCree leans in, resting an arm on the wall over Gabe’s head. He has to tilt his head back to look McCree in the eye. He’s very aware of how close McCree’s face is to his own. The escaped strands of McCree’s hair brush Gabe’s own forehead. 

“You’re the only one sitting down,” McCree points out. “You’ve got a sourpuss face on and you ain’t drinking. It’s suspicious as hell.”

“I’m drinking,” Gabe says. He takes a big gulp of the drink that McCree had handed him, just for effect. He realizes, belatedly, that the drink is actually quite strong. McCree snorts. 

“Hardly. C’mon - finish that,” McCree says, knocking back the rest of his own drink in one go. Gabe eyes him suspiciously. 

“I am not drawing attention to myself.”

“Yeah you are. Come  _ on _ .”

“Come on where, exactly?”

“Finish your drink. We’re gonna dance.”

“ _ That _ is going to start drawing attention,” Gabe says. McCree laughs. 

“Yeah, but a different sort. Do you want another drink first?”

Gabe makes a face. “Fine.”

He pretends that the way McCree’s face lights up doesn't send a little thrill down his spine. Instead, he snorts as McCree reaches up automatically to tip his hat, only to find he's not wearing any hat to tip. McCree gives Gabe a lopsided grin, running his hand through his hair, messing it up even further. 

“Be right back.”

Gabe watches McCree wind his way back through the crowd to the bar. When he loses McCree in the sea of gyrating people, he turns his attention back to scanning the room for any signs of illegal activity. 

McCree is gone for a long time. Gabe frowns and turns his gaze back to the general direction of the bar. It takes a moment, but Gabe spots McCree, a drink in both hands, being talked up by a tall, handsome stranger. Irrationally, jealousy flares in the pit of Gabe’s stomach. As he watches, the handsome stranger leans in closer, getting into McCree’s space, touching his hip. McCree laughs but doesn't back off. Gabe stands up abruptly. 

A moment later and Gabe slides up behind McCree, pressing his chest against his back, fingers sliding over McCree’s hips, tugging him back against his own body. He leans his head down close to McCree’s ear, locking his eyes with the handsome stranger in front of him. 

“Hey,” Gabe says, voice low. He feels McCree stiffen against him. “You owe me a drink.”

McCree half-turns in Gabe’s arms and blinks before he looks positively delighted. He tosses a glance back to the stranger. 

“See ya,” he says. McCree turns to face Gabe fully, standing close, the stranger apparently already forgotten. He presses a drink into Gabe’s hand. “That was smooth.”

“Don't sound too surprised now,” Gabe says dryly. McCree laughs, clinking his glass against Gabe’s. 

“Cheers,” he says, knocking back his drink in a single swift gulp. Gabe follows suit. McCree plucks the empty glass from his hands and sets them aside. To Gabe’s surprise, McCree grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. Gabe doesn't pull away though, letting McCree tug them onto the dance floor. 

Bodies press in around them, surrounding them, forcing them to stand close together. McCree takes it one step further, sliding one hand over Gabe’s chest so his arm is draped over Gabe’s shoulder. His other hand comes up to rest on Gabe’s hip. He tips his face up to meet Gabe’s eyes. Gabe finds his breath gets stuck in his throat, his mouth going dry. McCree’s face is so close, the look he's giving him is practically  _ intimate _ -

“You gotta move,” McCree says, putting a little bit of pressure on Gabe’s hip with his hand. Gabe scrunches up his face. 

“I know how to dance.”

“Well you ain't doing a good job of it right now.”

Gabe makes a face again. He lifts McCree’s hand off his shoulder and spins him around so his front is pressed up against McCree’s back. He laces their fingers together again, keeping his other hand on McCree’s hip, keeping him close. Gabe moves his body, sinuously, in time to the music. After a moment, McCree follows suit. He tips his head back, almost on Gabe’s shoulder. 

“That's the ticket,” McCree breathes, just loud enough for Gabe to hear. It makes him shiver. 

They sway together, bodies pressed tight. Gabe pretends that it's nothing, that it's all part of their cover - they have to be convincing. His fingers are pressing into McCree’s hip because he has to. If his fingers slip under the hem of McCree’s shirt when it rides up as McCree lifts his arms, well, that's just an accident. Gabe finds himself concentrating on the back of McCree’s neck, where his cropped hair is damp with sweat. A drop of moisture beads on the end of a strand of hair. Gabe watches as it drops onto the knot of bone at the back of McCree’s neck and follows it until it disappears down the collar of McCree’s shirt. Gabe has to concentrate on not letting his thoughts wander down McCree’s shirt along with that bead of sweat. 

McCree turns in Gabe’s arms and they're suddenly face to face. His nose nearly brushes Gabe’s. He's looking at Gabe from under his lashes. One hand comes up to cup the back of Gabe’s neck, McCree’s thumb rubbing just behind his ear. 

“I think our guy is here,” McCree says, voice low. It isn’t what Gabe was expecting -  _ what _ was he expecting, really? - but he manages a nod. 

“I'll follow him into the bathroom -”

“Not so fast,” McCree says. His fingers tighten against the back of Gabe's neck. “Let him come to us.”

Gabe gives McCree a skeptical look, but McCree only smirks - devilish and hot as sin - before he turns back around in Gabe’s arms. He presses back, practically grinding against Gabe, letting his head fall back to rest on Gabe’s shoulder. 

“This isn't the plan,” Gabe hisses in McCree’s ear. If he can pretend he's annoyed with him, maybe Gabe can ignore the other feelings coiling in his chest. 

“Trust me,” McCree says. “We gotta play hard to get.”

So they dance. They have a surprisingly natural rhythm together - Gabe stubbornly chalks it up to years of training together, working side by side. It only makes sense they'd so easily mirror each other’s movements. Gabe’s shirt is sticking to his chest, damp with his sweat and McCree’s. His hands stay firmly on McCree’s hips, but his grip is tight, keeping him close. 

Gabe will remember this for a long time. 

Gabe loses track of time, absorbed as he is in the feeling of McCree’s body against his own - and then McCree is pulling away. Instinctively, Gabe tries to pull him back in. McCree lets him, but laughs. 

“Need a drink. Want one?” McCree asks. Gabe blinks, coming back to himself. 

“Sure.”

McCree leads Gabe by the hand back to the bar, but lets go of him when they meet the wall of people jostling for the bartender’s attention. Gabe hangs back, watching McCree slip between the clubgoers and easily catching the bartender’s attention. McCree leans against the bar to speak to her, shoulders broad under his too-tight shirt. Gabe keeps an eye on him, for the sake of their mission. Obviously. 

“I'm in,” McCree says, once he slips back through the crowd to Gabe. He presses a drink into his hand. Gabe blinks. 

“In?” 

“Got an audience with the king,” McCree says, jerking his head toward the boss’s table. Gabe does his best not to look too pleased. 

“I'll come with you,” Gabe says. McCree shakes his head. 

“It was a one-person invitation.”

“That's a bad idea.”

“Just keep an eye on me, okay?”

Gabe frowns. McCree slips his hand over Gabe’s cheek and gives him a swift, light peck on the lips. It's over in a blink, and then McCree is slipping through the crowd again. Gabe is rooted to the spot, stunned for a moment, before he finally regains enough control of his limbs to move again. He takes a healthy gulp from his drink and moves toward the fringes of the crowd where he’ll have a better view of the boss’s table. McCree is so far off from the plan that there's no way this is going to go well. 

When Gabe finally gets eyes on the boss’s table, McCree is already sitting close to the man in charge. Gabe makes note of the bodyguards - one on each side of the table, another lurking nearby. They're armed, which isn't a surprise. Gabe is pretty sure there's at least one more outside of his line of sight. He can take two of them on his own, three if he's in the right position, but he doesn't like the idea that there are probably more elsewhere that he can't see. He hopes McCree knows what he's doing. 

Gabe’s heart sinks when he looks back at McCree and the boss; the boss has got one hand on McCree’s thigh and McCree is laughing, head tipped close to the boss’s. Suddenly, the boss looks up and locks eyes with Gabe. He doesn't flinch, but the bad feeling in the back of his mind intensifies. McCree’s head swings around to look too. A smile spreads over McCree’s face. He  _ winks _ at Gabe before he turns back to the boss, explaining something animatedly. The boss’s eyes slide to McCree’s face briefly before looking back to Gabe. The boss crooks his fingers. McCree half-turns toward Gabe and enthusiastically beckons him over too. 

Well. 

Gabe makes his way over to the table and is almost immediately stopped by one of the bodyguards. 

“Let him through,” the boss says lazily. His hand is still on McCree’s thigh. The bodyguard steps aside to let Gabe pass. 

“My boyfriend,” McCree says brightly, meeting Gabe’s eyes. It's a testament to Gabe’s training that he doesn't blink. The smile that tugs at his lips, though, is less about training and more about wishful thinking. He can't help but note the slightly disappointed look that crosses the boss’s face. 

“Lucky man,” the boss says. McCree bobs his head. 

“He is,” McCree says seriously. “But I am too.”

The boss makes a little noise. He still hasn't taken his hand off McCree’s thigh. Gabe looks at it pointedly, but the boss doesn't back down. McCree looks between them. 

“Vin here was saying we might be able to help him out,” McCree says. 

“You're hiring?” Gabe asks dryly. The boss - Vin - makes a noncommittal gesture. 

“Maybe,” Vin says. “Depends.”

“On?”

“How much you're willing to do.”

“We’re  _ very  _ capable,” McCree assures him. “All sorts of skills.”

“Mm,” Vin says. Gabe folds his arms over his chest, drawing himself up to his full height. “You look capable, alright.”

Gabe doesn't say anything, keeping his gaze steady and his spine straight. The corner of Vin’s mouth curls into a sneer. 

“Alright,” Vin says again. “I'll take the chance. Tomorrow after close, yeah? We’ll see what you can do.”

“Both of us?” McCree prompts. Vin nods slowly. 

“Both of you,” he agrees. He gives McCree’s thigh a squeeze. “Enjoy yourselves tonight. Tomorrow will be all business.”

McCree pops up and gives Vin a charming smile. “Looking forward to it.”

Gabe startles a little when McCree touches his arm. He pulls his eyes away from Vin to look at McCree. 

“Let's dance?” McCree suggests. Gabe blinks then nods. He tosses a final look over his shoulder at Vin as McCree tugs him back into the dancing crowd. Vin’s watching them go like an overfed predator: biding his time with sharp, dangerous eyes. Gabe’s got a bad feeling about this. 

McCree spins around and presses his chest against Gabe’s, arms looped loosely around Gabe’s shoulders. 

“You gotta pretend you're at least a little bit into me, sweetheart,” McCree says. The endearment snaps Gabe’s focus back to McCree. He's suddenly very aware of the warmth of McCree’s chest against his own. 

“I don't like that guy,” Gabe says gruffly. McCree laughs. 

“Yeah, well. He's a crime lord. What do you expect?” McCree shakes his head a little, hair falling into his eyes again. “Move now - dance. He's watching.”

Gabe sways with McCree, letting his hands settle on McCree’s hips. 

“What did he tell you?” Gabe asks. 

“Said he had an opportunity for me,” McCree says, dropping his gaze between their bodies. “Make some cash.”

“How'd you drag me into this?”

“Told him we’re a package deal,” McCree says with a shrug. He looks back up to meet Gabe’s eyes. “I gotta tell you, I ain't quite convinced it's not a trap.”

Gabe sighs. He spins McCree around, slipping one hand from his hips to the bottom of his stomach. His pinky brushes the waistband of McCree’s pants. McCree cants his hips back. Gabe leans down to speak into his ear. 

“We're gonna need backup.”

“We'll get the others in on it.”

“What is this? Drugs or people?”

“Why not both?”

“McCree.”

McCree lets a breath out in a little huff as he drops his head back on Gabe’s shoulder. 

“It  _ could _ be both,” McCree says. “We should be prepared for both.”

Gabe makes a face - McCree’s right. 

“We need to reconvene with the rest of the team. It's not a lot of time.”

“Can't go yet,” McCree says. “He's still watching. It’d look suspicious.”

“So, what? We dance all night?”

McCree tilts his head up towards Gabe’s, eyes heavy-lidded under her lashes, flush high on his cheeks. Gabe feels his own breath catch in his throat. 

“That was my plan. You gotta better one?”

Gabe doesn't. He presses his hand against McCree’s stomach just a little more firmly and they dance. 

=-=-=

The sky is already beginning to lighten when Gabe finally gets back to their field command center, which is in a small townhouse at the fringes of the neighborhood. He dismisses everyone almost immediately - they all need to catch a little shut eye before they start planning their next move. He avoids looking at McCree in the light of day; there's something about pretending to be intimate in the relative anonymity of a dark, sweaty club that doesn't translate well to the fluorescent lights of their retconned townhouse. Gabe shuts himself in his field office - what would've been a study, maybe - and lies down on his cot, still fully dressed. He can smell McCree on him; stale sweat and a hint of whiskey. Gabe closes his eyes and immediately remembers the weight and warmth of McCree’s body pressed against his own, the way McCree looked at him with that little smirk and bright eyes, the kiss he pressed to Gabe’s lips - Gabe sits up abruptly and scrubs his hands over his face. It was hardly a kiss; just a quick brush of the lips, practically casual, and certainly only to establish their cover. It wasn't a thing. 

Even if Gabe wishes it was a thing. He can’t think that. He knows it's impossible. 

He toes his shoes off and forces himself back down onto the cot. He needs to sleep, recharge. It's going to be a long night, otherwise. 

Gabe sleeps badly. It's not nightmares, for once, but his idle mind wanders back to Jesse McCree and what can never be. Gabe wakes with an ache in his chest he pretends to ignore. Giving up on sleep, he gets up to find some coffee. 

Blackwatch never gets as many resources as Overwatch proper, but they managed to wrangle a proper kitchen for their field command center for once. Gabe shuffles in there on bare feet, trying to clear his head. 

McCree is already in the kitchen, freshly showered and fussing with the coffee maker. He glances up, giving a double take, when Gabe walks in. 

“Hey boss,” McCree says casually. He gives Gabe a little wave before he smacks the coffee maker again. It splutters to life, filling the small kitchen with the aroma of cheap, hot coffee. Gabe swallows down the ache in his chest, suddenly self-conscious of his grimy club clothes. 

“Morning,” Gabe nods to McCree. He opens a cabinet in search of food. 

“Coffee’s nearly ready,” McCree says. His voice is even, neutral, even professional - miles away from the sultry tone he had been using with Gabe in the club just hours before. Gabe nods again. 

“Thanks,” he says. He finally finds a protein bar and unwraps it. He leans back against the counter as he takes a bite. “Did you get some sleep?”

McCree shrugs. “Enough.”

Gabe frowns slightly. “Coffee isn't a replacement.”

“Could say the same to you,” McCree points out. Gabe gestures to his own chest. 

“Enhanced,” Gabe says. He's imagining McCree’s eyes lingering on his chest, definitely. It’s the club clothes, Gabe reminds himself. “You don't get the same excuse.”

The coffee pot pings and McCree pours Gabe a mug. Gabe takes the mug with an appreciative grunt. McCree pours himself a cup but goes hunting for sugar. 

“Get some shut eye if you can,” Gabe says, watching McCree dump three heaping teaspoons of sugar into his mug. “The caffeine will only get you so far.”

McCree looks up, meeting Gabe’s eye with a questioning look of his own. Gabe swallows a bite of protein bar hastily, the bar sticking in his throat. 

“I'm gonna shower. See you in the debrief.”

Gabe escapes to the bathroom before he does something stupid. 

The water is hot and the water pressure is surprisingly good. Gabe peels off his club clothes as the small bathroom fills with steam. He makes himself think through the mission details. His thoughts inevitably wander to the night before. Gabe scrubs his hair harder than strictly necessary. 

Gabe calls the rest of the squad into the dining room once he's had a chance to change his clothes. The strike team takes their seats around the table, most of them looking relatively refreshed considering the long night. 

“McCree and I have some updates - but first, anyone else have anything to report?” Gabe asks. Prithi and Valdez exchange a glance. Shiga shrugs. Edwards shakes his head. 

“We spotted some minor drug trades,” Prithi says. “Small amounts, different people. It didn't seem like large scale trafficking.”

“We didn't even get that,” Edwards says, his tone a little sour. Gabe generally appreciates his enthusiasm for the job, but sometimes he has to wonder. 

“They have really bad taste in music,” Shiga adds. “I tried to talk up some of their cocktail waitresses but they were real cagey.”

“Anything else?” Gabe asks, looking around at the others. When nobody offers up anything more, his eyes stop at McCree. Even though he keeps his expression neutral, Gabe finds himself thinking about the night before again. If McCree is thinking about it, he doesn’t give any indication; he’s a professional. 

“We met the big boss,” McCree says. “We have an in.”

“That's right. So: change of plans. We’ll all be at the same club tonight.”

Gabe outlines the plan, everyone’s roles, and coordinates their signals. He assigns the same pairs as before, with different assignments within the club. The strike team spends the rest of the day familiarizing themselves with the target club and making preparations for the sting ahead. Gabe is soothed by the professionalism of it, allowing himself to get lost in the sheer joy of planning a good covert operation. 

Later that night, the pairs set off for the club, staggering their departure and routes with an excess of caution. Gabe wants this to go well. 

Gabe and McCree leave for the club last, after Gabe gives a heads up to the local authorities to keep lines open for Overwatch-related operations. He starts downstairs to meet McCree by the door, but he isn’t there. 

“McCree? Where are you?” Gabe calls out. 

“Hold your horses! I’m comin’,” McCree calls back. He comes around the corner from the kitchen and suddenly Gabe loses all his hard-earned professionalism he built up over the afternoon. McCree’s got on tight jeans, a tight shirt - a different outfit from the night before. Gabe swallows. 

“You ready?”

McCree flashes him a smile. “Rarin’.”

Gabe doesn’t have to pretend to roll his eyes, but is glad for the excuse to turn away. 

The club is already loud and bustling by the time Gabe and McCree get there. Gabe spots Edwards striking out with one of the cocktail waitresses while Shiga is having moderately better success nearby. He doesn’t see Prithi or Valdez anywhere, but McCree is already grabbing his hand and dragging him to the bar. 

“We’re supposed to be -” Gabe starts to say. 

“Dancing,” McCree nods. “You’ll do better with a drink or two first.”

Gabe doesn’t put up as much of a fight as he should. He glances around the club as McCree flags down the bartender. It’s another packed night; the club is popular. Gabe wonders how much of that is due to the drug trade they’ve got going on. When he looks back at McCree, he’s got a drink in either hand.

“Different bartender,” McCree says, frowning slightly as he passes Gabe a glass. 

“Problem?” Gabe asks. McCree considers it. 

“Shouldn’t be,” McCree says. “We made the appointment with the boss directly.”

Gabe clinks his glass against McCree’s. “In that case.”

McCree grins. “I’ll drink to that.”

They toss their drinks back - it’s strong. Gabe thumbs away the little bit of liquor that clings to the corner of his mouth. McCree catches his eye. 

“Another?” McCree asks. Gabe shakes his head. 

“Might as well get it over with,” Gabe says, gesturing toward the dance floor. The slight pinch between McCree’s eyebrows disappears as he laughs. He plucks the glass out of Gabe’s hands and sets it on the bar behind them. He takes Gabe’s hand again. 

“Don’t make it sound like I’m pullin’ teeth here,” McCree says. Gabe lets him tug him to the dance floor. “You got plenty into it last night.” 

“I can’t be accused of being a bad dancer,” Gabe says.

“Defending your honor?”

“Something like that,” Gabe says. 

“Mm. My turn to lead,” McCree says, suddenly spinning Gabe around by the hand and sliding his body up behind him. Gabe makes a small surprised noise that he hopes is drowned out by the thumping music. McCree presses up against Gabe’s body like Gabe had done to him last night, his hands settling on Gabe’s hips, pulling him even closer against McCree’s own. Even if it’s only to himself, Gabe can’t help but admit he likes it: surrounded by McCree’s bulk, bracketed by his arms, his facial hair tickling the side of his neck. McCree’s breath is warm and damp on his skin, and Gabe finds himself closing his eyes, rocking with McCree in time to the music.

If there wasn’t an actual mission to be paying attention to, Gabe would give himself over to the experience, let himself enjoy being close to McCree. 

As it is, Gabe had a mission to run. He lets himself melt against McCree for a few songs, but peels his eyes open to look around the dance floor. It’s a similar crowd to the previous evening, though McCree was right about the bartender. That seems strange. He hasn’t spotted Prithi or Valdez yet. Edwards is striking out with yet another cocktail waitress. Gabe sighs inwardly - maybe he wasn’t the best choice for this operation. 

“Y’want a drink?” McCree asks, voice low and breath warm around Gabe’s ear. Gabe suppresses a shiver. 

“I thought I was doing okay,” Gabe protests. McCree laughs. 

“Don't worry sweetheart. Just want to check out the new bartender. Don't dance with anyone while I'm gone?”

“Depends if I get a better offer,” Gabe says, even though he couldn't conceive of a better one. McCree chuckles - Gabe can feel it against his back - and then there's a warm press of lips against Gabe’s neck, just under his ear. His knees threaten to give out, but then McCree is gone. 

Fuck. 

Gabe does his best to regain his composure. It doesn't do anyone any good to blow this operation now because Gabriel Reyes has a wildly inappropriate crush on his right hand man. 

McCree is gone for longer than he should be. Gabe makes his way to the edge of the dance floor to get a look at the bar. He spots McCree, leaning on the bar and chatting up a woman. Gabe finds himself frowning. He starts moving toward the bar. As he watches, the bartender sets drinks down in front of them. McCree swaps his drink with the woman's and downs it quickly. The woman doesn't seem to notice. McCree flags down the bartender and holds up two fingers. Gabe slips up behind him, touching the small of McCree’s back. 

“Missed you,” Gabe says. McCree looks up and smiles broadly. 

“Couldn't help but buy a pretty lady a drink,” McCree says, nodding to his female companion. Gabe glances at her. He's well-trained enough not to do a double take, but Gabe can't remember a time when he's seen Valdez dress up like this. 

“What about my drink?” 

“Coming up, sweetheart,” McCree says. As if on cue, the bartender deposits two fresh drinks in front of McCree. McCree picks up both and nods to Valdez. “Enjoy yourself.”

Valdez, to her credit, barely blinks.

McCree ushers Gabe away from the bar with one hand on Gabe’s hip, already tossing back one drink. He makes a little face. Gabe blinks. 

“You shouldn't drink this,” McCree says, keeping his mouth close to Gabe’s ear. He's leading Gabe to a table in the corner. 

“Why?”

“Pretty sure it's laced with something,” McCree says. Gabe turns his head to look at McCree, but his face is neutral. 

“With what?”

“I'll let you know.”

Before Gabe can react, McCree’s tossing the second drink back. Gabe not-so-gently pushes him down to the bench behind the table. 

“Are you crazy?” Gabe hisses. McCree gives him a little lopsided grin. 

“Probably. Better me than Stef, though,” McCree says. Gabe rubs a hand over his face. McCree sits forward. “Look, no reason to worry until we need to worry.”

“This is stupid,” Gabe says. “We have a job -”

“Right now, we're just dancing. We should probably do more of that.”

“Jesse -” it slips out before Gabe can catch himself. He presses his lips together tightly. McCree looks up at him with a brightness in his eyes that wasn't there a moment ago. 

“Don't worry. I know you'll keep an eye on me,” McCree says. He stands and takes Gabe’s hand, squeezing it. “C’mon. Let's dance.” 

Gabe lets McCree escort him back to the dance floor but he takes the lead this time. He wraps his arms around McCree, tucking his nose into the crook of his neck, his fingers of one hand wrapping around one of McCree’s wrists - to keep an eye on his pulse, Gabe tells himself. It's not so much a dance at this point, more of a sliding of bodies against each other. 

They dance and nothing happens. 

Gabe should be paying attention to the rest of the club, but he's having a hard time dragging his mind away from McCree. He finally lifts his head to look again. Gabe is fairly certain that it's getting late but the crowd hasn't flagged. 

McCree starts pulling away from Gabe’s arms. Gabe tightens his grip instinctively. McCree turns in Gabe’s arms, leaning forward so his nose brushes Gabe’s, lips achingly close to Gabe's own. 

“Bathroom. Saw someone follow a girl in,” McCree murmurs. Gabe stiffens. 

“I'll go,” he says immediately. McCree considers for a moment, then nods. He leans in closer, breath warm on Gabe’s mouth, then seems to think better of it. 

“I'll meet you at the bar,” McCree says. Gabe nods and pulls away. He meanders to the bathrooms, loosening his stride. There is, somehow, no line, which only heightens Gabe’s suspicions. He stumbles into the bathroom, pretending not to hear someone call out behind him, to find a man looming behind a woman who’s hunched over the sinks. There's another woman - a cocktail waitress - hovering nearby, but not intervening. 

“Hey,” Gabe says with a wave. The man glances at Gabe. 

“Mind your business,” the man says. Gabe lets out a low whistle. 

“Just being friendly,” Gabe says, putting up his hands. He focuses on the woman, but directs his words to the waitress. “Is she okay?” 

The man steps between Gabe and the women, drawing himself up to his full, not insubstantial height. The man might have an inch or two on Gabe, but he almost certainly doesn't have any SEP stuff running through his veins. 

“I said,” the man says, voice going low and dark. “Mind. Your business.”

Gabe tilts his head to look past him at the women. The one hunched over the sink is pale, shaky. She can't hold up her own head. The cocktail waitress has a hand on her back, but is giving Gabe a frightened look. 

The man reaches out and grabs Gabe by the front of the shirt. Gabe stumbles for show. 

“Woah -”

The man takes a swing. Gabe ducks it easily, sweeping the man’s legs out from under him. He gets the upper hand laughably quickly; the man is unconscious on the floor in mere moments. The women haven't moved. Gabe goes over to checks the hunched woman’s breathing. The cocktail waitress tries to move between him and the other woman. Gabe stops and puts his hands up. 

“I just want to help,” he says. The waitress hesitates then moves aside. Gabe checks the hunched woman’s pulse - it’s fluttery and weak. He frowns and looks back at the waitress. “There's a woman in a silver dress with dark hair and a nose ring. She’ll help you.”

The cocktail waitress hesitates again and Gabe takes a step back, doing his best to look non-threatening, even though he just punched out another man. 

“I'm going to walk away now, and make sure someone takes him away,” Gabe says, nodding to the man who’s still unconscious on the floor. “But if you need anything…”

The waitress bites her lip but nods. Gabe offers her what he hopes is a small reassuring smile. He turns and heads out of the bathroom to find Prithi. It takes him longer than he wants, but he manages to spot her in the crowd. He stumbles into her. 

“Uhh, there's someone throwing up in the bathroom,” Gabe says. Prithi narrows her eyes at him. 

“Do I look like I work here, creep?” she asks. Gabe blinks. 

“You don't?”

Prithi huffs and tosses her hair over her shoulder, moving away from Gabe quickly. Gabe lets his breath out and rubs a hand over his face. He makes his way to the bar, but McCree is nowhere in sight. That's not right. 

Gabe leans against the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. The new bartender is distracted, though, apparently being berated by the bartender from the previous night. As Gabe watches, the old bartender shoves an unmarked liquor bottle into her hands before she throws up her arms and stalks away. Looking rattled, the new bartender sets the bottle on the shelf and returns to her work. Gabe frowns. He looks around, but McCree is still nowhere in sight. Gabe moves away from the bar to make a quick turn around the club, keeping his eyes peeled for McCree. Still - nothing. 

He tries not to let the worry coalesce. McCree is an eminently capable agent - more than able to handle himself - and Gabe has no reason to worry. But that needling voice in the back of his mind reminds him that McCree drank something he shouldn't have. McCree knows the protocol; he'd get out if he was compromised. Gabe tries not to count the number of times McCree has  _ actually _ followed protocol. 

Gabe ends up settling into a seat on the edge of the dance floor. He spots the big boss as the man ambles in, flanked by his bodyguards, to take up court at his table in the VIP section. Still no sign of McCree. Gabe watches as the boss says something to one of his bodyguards. The guard peels off and heads towards Gabe. 

“The boss wants to see you,” the bodyguard says, getting in close to be heard. Gabe doesn't move. 

“I'm waiting for someone,” Gabe says. The bodyguard’s expression doesn't change. 

“The boss wants to see you,” he repeats. Gabe considers the guard; it's no use trying to pick a fight with him now - it would compromise the rest of the mission. Gabe gets up, taking his time. The bodyguard doesn't roll his eyes, but the impatient tap of his foot gives him away. 

“Lead the way, then.”

Gabe follows the bodyguard to the VIP table in the corner, but keeps his eyes on the guard’s back. He's got at least one gun, strapped to his side, but Gabe is willing to bet he's got at least one more, probably strapped to his ankle. That makes it complicated. 

“Ah, the boyfriend,” Vin says expansively, one arm slung over the back of the booth. He looks Gabe up and down. “You're early.”

“We came for a drink,” Gabe says. 

“We don't really appreciate drinking on the job.”

“We weren't working yet.”

“You keep saying ‘we.’ Where's your better half, then?”

Gabe’s jaw tightens. He shrugs. Vin smiles, oily and sinister. 

“Would you like to go see him?”

Something Gabe’s chest clenches up. He thinks back to the girl in the bathroom, McCree’s practically off-handed remark about the drinks being laced with  _ something _ \- Gabe’s mind jumps to the worst. Gabe would never forgive himself if something happened to McCree. And, further… He thinks to the moment before he checked on the girl in the bathroom, when McCree’s lips were so close to his own - he thinks to the moment the night before, the quick kiss pressed to his mouth, the kiss on his neck that made his knees go weak. Gabe would never forgive himself if something happened to McCree and he never took the chance to say anything to him about his feelings, as repressed as they have been. Gabe has passed up too many opportunities in his life, but this would be the kicker. 

“Sure,” Gabe finds himself saying coolly. 

The boss gets up and beckons Gabe to follow. He falls into step behind Vin, conscious of the bodyguards who flank them. He itches for a weapon, for something that will make him feel not completely helpless. Instead, Gabe grits his teeth and keeps quiet. 

Vin leads Gabe through the back of the club - through what looks like a kitchen and into a back office. Gabe manages not to let his breath catch in his throat, but only just: McCree is there, tied to a chair, head lolling. Without thinking, Gabe lunges for him, sinking to his knees in front of McCree. He's faintly aware of the bodyguards closing in around him, but the boss must stop them. He slides a hand under McCree’s chin. 

“Hey - hey,” Gabe says, patting his cheek lightly with his other hand. McCree blinks blearily at him, then smiles, broad and unguarded. 

“Mike,” McCree says, slurring Gabe’s codename. Gabe cups his cheek, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Y’ came.”

“‘Course I did, Joel,” Gabe says. He’s a professional; he keeps his voice steady. As Gabe watches, a spark of clarity comes into McCree’s eyes. He winks. McCree’s exaggerating the effects of it, Gabe realizes. He’s playing it up. Gabe feels only slightly reassured; he can’t read McCree’s mind, he doesn’t know what he’s planning. He wishes - not for the first time - that McCree would just stick to their initial plans. 

“Knew you’d find me,” McCree says, letting his eyes slide back out of focus. He dips forward, resting his forehead against Gabe’s and closing his eyes. Gabe wants to shake him, make McCree tell him what he’s thinking, but that’s out of the question. Instead, he lets himself be soothed by the touch of McCree’s forehead against his own. 

“You see, I had a deal with Joel,” Vin says, ruining the moment. “But he broke my rules, and I still have a job to do. So,  _ Mike _ , you’re going to have to fill in.”

Gabe turns his head without pulling away from McCree. “What did you give to him?”

“He did this to himself,” Vin says with a negligent shrug. “And if you want him out of here safely, then you’re going to do what I say.”

Gabe turns his head back to McCree. There’s a mischievous spark in McCree’s eyes that’s unmistakable. Still, Gabe worries. 

He does something he doesn’t mean to do. Rather, he does it for the sake of their cover - or at least that’s what he tells himself. Gabe tips his head towards McCree and kisses him soundly, firmly on the mouth. McCree makes a small, surprised noise then he feels McCree lean into it, his lips parting against his own. 

“Let's go,” Vin says impatiently. Gabe pulls away finally. 

“Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone,” Gabe says, giving McCree a serious look. McCree returns Gabe look with a lopsided grin. 

“I'll be here,” McCree says. Gabe swallows down his worry and stands to face Vin. 

“Alright.”

Gabe follows Vin back out of the office and down a set of stairs into a basement. It sets Gabe on edge; there’s nothing worse than fighting in a basement. The stairwell is dark and narrow, but it opens up onto a large finished room lined with rows of tables. There’s what looks like a huge walk-in freezer or safe in one corner, with a giant locking mechanism. Gabe can hear the club music thumping above him. He looks at Vin. 

“So what’s the job?” Gabe asks. 

“I have a delivery coming in,” Vin says, picking at his nails idly. “I can’t be here to receive it myself, so that’s where you come in.”

“A delivery,” Gabe repeats. “What kind of delivery?”

“Those sort of questions don't get answers until you prove your worth,” Vin says. He nods to one of his bodyguards. “Frank will supervise.”

One of the bodyguards steps forward. Gabe looks him up and down; he’s tall, broad - the suit he’s wearing is cheap and pulling across the shoulders, but Gabe knows better than to underestimate him. He’s likely packing; Gabe would guess at least one pistol tucked into his waistband, and probably something else strapped to his ankle like the other guard. Even still, Gabe’s sure he could take him. 

“Sure,” Gabe says finally. Vin smirks. 

“Great. I’ll be back to check in on you later.”

Vin and his two remaining bodyguards turn and leave the basement. Gabe looks at Frank again. 

“So. How long have you been working for your boss there?” Gabe asks. Frank grunts. “Man of few words, then?”

“Shut up,” Frank says irritably. Gabe puts his hands up. 

“I’m just trying to figure out what I’ve gotten myself into,” Gabe says. 

“Maybe your boyfriend should’ve been a little more careful,” Frank says.

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“The boss don’t like when folks don’t follow his rules,” Frank says. 

“I get that,” Gabe says. He wanders away from Frank a little, peeking into the corners of the basement, keeping his movements slow and casual, and his hands visible. He can feel Frank’s eyes track him around the room. “Joel’s never been very good at following instructions.”

“It’s gonna get him hurt, one of these days.”

Gabe grimaces. He’s had the thought himself - but it feels different coming from another person’s mouth. 

“Yeah, probably.”

They fall quiet. Gabe keeps poking around the basement, but there’s not a whole lot down here to give him much of an indication of what to expect. The minutes stretch on. 

“So, when’s this package coming?”

“It’s coming.”

Gabe turns around and rolls his eyes. Frank’s expression doesn’t change. 

“What did your boss do to my… boyfriend?” Gabe asks, stumbling over the word “boyfriend.” If the bodyguard notices, he doesn’t make any indication. 

“He did it to himself,” Frank shrugs.

Gabe makes a face. He opens his mouth to say something more but is interrupted by a banging on the metal cellar doors set into the ceiling of the far corner of the basement. Frank shoulders past Gabe and goes to open the doors. Gabe hangs back a step or two, alert. The doors open out onto the back alley. It’s too dark to see much, but two figures lean down to greet Frank.

“We got a live one today, Frank,” one of the figures says. 

“Shut up,” Frank says gruffly. “We got a new guy.”

“Yeah?” the other figure says, leaning further down to get a look at Gabe. Gabe gives him a little wave. 

“Just happy to be here,” Gabe says. 

“Can we get this over with?” Frank says irritably. The two men shrug and move away from the doors. Frank looks back at Gabe. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Gabe puts his hands up. Frank reaches up and tugs on a chain, which unfurls a rusty set of steps from the doors to the basement floor. The two men come back and pass a box down to Frank. 

“Put this on the bench over there,” Frank says, depositing the box into Gabe’s arms. Gabe takes the box - it’s surprisingly heavy - and turns towards the bench. He sets the box down and lifts the flap. There’s bottles marked with “gamma-hydroxybutyrate” - the bottles look strikingly similar to the one that the old bartender passed the new one earlier in the evening. Gabe feels the anger bubble up to the surface again; he’s pretty sure this is what McCree’s drink was laced with. If not this, then something similar. Gabe wonders how many other drinks were tainted. 

A noise behind him makes Gabe turn back around to the doors. Three young women - hands bound and blindfolded - are being passed down the rickety steps into Frank’s waiting arms. Gabe’s stomach turns over. He forces himself to walk calmly back to Frank and the two others. 

“Live one, huh?” Gabe asks, doing his best to keep his tone casual. 

“You got a problem with it?” Frank asks. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Gabe shrugs. “Don’t have much of a choice.”

“You remember that, too,” Frank says. He passes one of the women into Gabe’s hands. “Take her over there.”

Gabe follows Frank’s gaze to the oversized safe. He can taste the bile at the back of his throat. He steadies the woman and starts shuffling her over to the safe, keeping the movements as gentle as he can manage. He can feel her shaking in his arms. 

“I’m gonna help you,” Gabe says, as quietly as possible, right into her ear. He feels the woman stiffen under his grip. He hates this. 

The cellar doors swing shut with a loud clang. Frank comes over with the other two women and passes one of them into Gabe’s other arm. 

“Look somewhere else,” Frank says, hands on the lock’s dial. Gabe rolls his eyes again and looks away. He can listen, though; Gabe’s enhanced hearing allows him to distinguish between the clicks on the dial. He closes his eyes as he listens, memorizing the pattern. 

“Hey,” Frank says as the door to the locker swings open. “Sleeping on the job already?”

Frank grabs the two women out of Gabe’s hands. Gabe shakes his head. 

“Just resting my eyes.”

“Funny.”

“Is this the whole delivery?” Gabe asks, watching Frank shove the women into the cramped, dark safe of the locker. There’s a bucket in one corner. Gabe’s heart aches. 

“Yep.”

“That’s it?” Gabe asks. Frank looks at Gabe, slamming the door shut and spinning the dial. 

“Don’t sound so disappointed now,” Frank says. 

“I’m just wondering,” Gabe says. 

There’s another knock on the cellar doors. Frank blinks, turns towards the sound. 

“Another delivery?” Gabe asks. Frank frowns, striding back to the doors. 

“No, that’s not -”

Frank doesn’t finish his sentence; a pair of boots swings through the doors and collides with his face with enough force to send him crashing to the ground. McCree drops down through the cellar doors, followed by Shiga and Edwards. Gabe blinks. 

“What the -” Gabe starts to say, but Shiga offers a hand up through the doors and helps Prithi and Valdez drop down too. Valdez smooths her skirt down. 

“Hey boss,” McCree says brightly. His nose is bleeding, and so are his wrists where the ropes must have dug into them - but he seems to be otherwise unscathed. 

“We should really have thought this through,” Valdez says irritably, still fussing with her skirt.  

“No time,” McCree says. He’s looking Gabe up and down. “You alright?”

“We did have a plan, you know,” Gabe says, but he can’t manage to frown - he’s relieved. 

“Funny thing about bad guys is that  _ they  _ never stick to our plans,” McCree says. 

“Did they bring the women down here?” Prithi asks. Gabe nods, moving back to the locker. 

“Maybe Edwards can -” McCree starts to say. Gabe gives him a severe look. 

“We do this one my way,” Gabe says. He puts a finger to his lips and spins the dial of the lock, listening intently. The door clicks open. When Gabe looks back at his team, McCree is grinning broadly. 

“Piece of cake,” he says. Gabe shakes his head a little. Prithi and Valdez move around him to unbind the women inside, their voices low and soothing. 

“Authorities are already on their way,” Edwards says. “We started the clean up upstairs, but McCree said you might be in trouble.”

“Even though you can take care of yourself, huh?” Shiga says, straightening from where he’s been binding Frank, hands to feet. 

“Better safe than sorry,” McCree says, meeting Gabe’s eyes. He’s smiling, the curl of his lip and the intensity of his look making Gabe’s heart skip a beat. Gabe has to look away. 

“Let’s finish the job,” Gabe says gruffly. 

=-=-=

With the dirty work done, the local authorities come in to do their own part, taking reports from Gabe and his strike team before carting away Vin and his goons into custody. Gabe watches from the curb, arms folded over his chest, as the bartender and a few of the cocktail waitresses are taken into custody too. It’s late - or early; the sun’s starting to warm the horizon to a soft pink. 

“Nothing like a job well done, right boss?” McCree says, suddenly next to him. Gabe turns his head towards McCree. 

“You can say that again,” Gabe says. McCree is smiling at him, but it’s not exactly his usual cocky, self-assured smile. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” McCree says. “I was worried, when they took you -”

Gabe blinks. “I wasn’t the one who got drugged.”

McCree shrugs. “You think I ain’t been drugged before?”

That makes something clench around Gabe’s heart. He looks away, back at the local authorities as they escort the last of Vin’s operation into the back of their police vans. 

“We should get back, get cleaned up,” Gabe says finally. He feels McCree shift next to him. 

“Yeah,” McCree says. “I’ll get the others.”

Gabe hears the tap of his boots as McCree walks away. He rubs a hand over his face and turns to follow after a few moments. 

=-=-=

Back in their townhouse, everyone goes their separate ways, most to get some sleep after a long, busy night of clean up. Gabe dawdles, sending a report in to HQ before he heads into the bathroom to clean up. His mind is elsewhere, so he doesn’t realize the bathroom’s occupied before he’s already inside. McCree, shirtless and standing over the sink tending to his nose, glances up when Gabe walks in. Gabe stops in his tracks. 

“Sorry,” Gabe says. McCree shrugs.

“It’s alright. At least you didn’t catch me with my pants down,” McCree says. Gabe ducks his head a little, trying not to think about that. 

“Do you need a hand with that?” Gabe asks instead, gesturing to McCree’s nose. 

“I don’t think it’s broken,” McCree says, dropping his hands away from his face. Gabe hesitates then takes a step closer. McCree doesn’t move. Gabe slides his hand under McCree’s chin, tilting his head towards the lights above the mirror. He tries to ignore the way McCree is looking at him from underneath his lashes. It makes the breath stick in Gabe’s throat. 

“You’re going to have a hell of a bruise,” Gabe says. 

“Mm,” McCree hums. “Add it to the collection.”

McCree raises his hands to show Gabe the marks on his wrists from the ropes. Gabe winces in sympathy. 

“We’ve got some salve for that,” Gabe says. 

“Figured I’d just clean it off,” McCree says. 

“The salve will speed up the healing,” Gabe says. “No need to suffer.”

McCree pauses before he says, “Sure.”

“Sit, then,” Gabe says, gesturing to the toilet. McCree does so while Gabe riffles through the bathroom cabinet. He finds the salve and turns back to McCree to find him watching him with a thoughtful look in his eyes. Gabe swallows. “Let me see them.”

McCree turns his wrists over on his thighs. Gabe kneels in front of him, taking each wrist in turn and carefully, gently spreading salve over the marks in McCree’s skin. He keeps his touch slow, deliberate. Neither of them say anything, both their gazes focused on Gabe’s fingers on McCree’s wrists. It feels strangely intimate. 

“Hey,” McCree says as Gabe finishes his second wrist, his voice coming out a little rough. Gabe looks up, hand still cupping McCree’s wrist. McCree ducks forward and presses his mouth to Gabe’s. It takes Gabe by surprise. He opens his mouth to make a noise, but McCree is pressing in insistently, the tip of his tongue sweeping between his lips. The protest - as half-hearted as it already was - dies in his throat. Gabe’s fingers clutch around McCree’s wrists as he kisses him back. He squeezes his eyes shut, letting himself enjoy the moment more than he should. 

McCree pulls away first. Gabe leans forward instinctively, chasing his lips as he pulls away. He blinks open his eyes. 

“I -” Gabe starts to say. 

“I wanted to do that for a long time,” McCree interrupts. 

“McCree…” Gabe tries again. McCree shakes his head. 

“I mean it,” McCree says, pulling his wrist out of Gabe’s grip and taking Gabe’s hands in his own. 

“That’s just the drugs talking,” Gabe says, unfairly, not believing it even as he says it. He’s trying to give McCree an out, but it only makes him look hurt. 

“I told you, it ain’t the first time, and it certainly ain’t the strong stuff,” McCree says. He doesn’t let go of Gabe’s hands, his voice going low and urgent. “And even if it was, it don’t change what I’ve been - how I feel about you, Gabe.”

Gabe’s first name in McCree’s voice rings in Gabe’s ears like a church bell. His heart beats in his throat. 

“McCree -”

“Jesse,” he says firmly, squeezing Gabe’s hands. Gabe swallows. 

“Jesse,” Gabe says. He can feel the wall between them crumbling with his resolve. Jesse searches Gabe’s face, brow furrowed, eyes intent. “I… can’t.”

“You did,” Jesse says, voice going accusatory, bordering on hurt. “In Vin’s office - you kissed me. That wasn’t - it was more than just acting.”

Gabe swallows; Jesse’s right, and he knows it. He drops his gaze to their hands, where their fingers are tangled together.

“I shouldn’t,” Gabe says. It pains him to say it. He’s denied himself for so long - for good reason. Many good reasons. He can imagine Jack listing them off during the inevitable court martial. He couldn’t do that to Jesse. 

“We’re a good team,” Jesse says softly, interrupting Gabe’s thoughts. “We deserve a little… A little something good.”

Gabe pulls his gaze back up to Jesse’s face, something twisting in his chest. 

“You deserve more than this,” Gabe says, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. 

“You kidding me?” Jesse asks disbelievingly. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Gabe. And I ain’t done much to deserve it, either.”

Gabe swallows around the lump in his throat, still unsure. 

“It wasn’t acting for me,” Jesse says, holding Gabe’s gaze. “It was all I could do to keep my hands off you. Best assignment yet. Just - look, if you don’t want it - want me - just tell me, so I can -”

Gabe surges up and kisses Jesse. He slides a hand up Jesse’s bare arm and up his neck to cup his cheek, holding him. He feels Jesse melt into the kiss, lips parting, his own arms coming up to tug Gabe in close. They kiss each other breathless, increasingly needy - right up until Gabe accidentally bumps Jesse’s nose. Jesse pulls back with a wince. 

“Sorry - sorry -” Gabe says, cupping Jesse’s face with both hands. Jesse smiles at Gabe, lopsided, his eyes bright. 

“You ain’t got no reason to apologize,” Jesse says. “I mean, unless you were gonna stop doing that.”

“People are going to talk,” Gabe says, already feeling the color creep into his cheeks. 

“They’re asleep. It was a long night,” Jesse points out. “And you’re just helpin’ me clean up.”

“Right,” Gabe says. Jesse leans in and kisses him again, almost shyly this time. Gabe kisses him back more firmly. He wants this - he’s wanted it for a long time - and he wants to show Jesse he means it. But he’s keenly aware of Jesse’s every movement, worried as he is that Jesse would be the one who changes his mind. 

He has no reason to worry, though; Jesse pulls him up so they’re both standing, pulls him in, kisses him harder. Gabe slides one hand down Jesse’s bare chest, his hand stalling over one pec. Jesse pulls away, slightly breathless and lips shiny pink. 

“You can keep going,” Jesse says. “I ain’t gonna stop you.”

“You could, if you wanted,” Gabe says. 

“How many times do I gotta say I want this, Gabe? Want you?” Jesse asks. 

_ Until I believe it _ , Gabe thinks, fleetingly. He shakes his head a little. “I just want you to be sure,” is what Gabe ends up saying out loud. Jesse huffs a breath out. He pushes Gabe back. Gabe’s heart sinks.

“I’m sure,” Jesse says, keeping his eyes on Gabe. Jesse’s fingers go for his own fly, tugging the zipper down of his tight jeans. Gabe’s mouth goes dry.

“Oh,” Gabe says. 

“Is that all you have to say?” Jesse says. He leans down to turn on the shower, his jeans slipping low on his hips. Gabe stares, he can’t help it; that trail of hair leading down into his open jeans… Gabe realizes Jesse isn’t wearing underwear. He’s not sure what he expected. 

“You’re sure,” Gabe manages to say. The worry is still there, in the back of his mind, but he knows Jesse: for as impulsive as he might be on assignments, Jesse doesn’t make choices lightly, and - when he does - he sticks to them. Gabe trusts Jesse to take care of himself. Maybe he should trust Jesse to take care of him too. 

“You finally get it, huh?” Jesse’s lips quirk up in a smile again. Gabe drags his eyes up from Jesse’s hips. 

“Starting to.”

Gabe pulls his shirt off up and over his head as Jesse shucks his jeans. He wiggles out of his own jeans with some difficulty. Jesse drags Gabe in to kiss him again as the steam from the shower begins to fill up the small bathroom. He steps backwards into the stall and under the stream. Gabe follows, doing his best not to break the contact with Jesse’s mouth. The water falls on their shoulders, plastering their hair to their heads, making their skin slide against each other. Jesse crowds Gabe against the wall of the shower, kissing him heatedly. Gabe gives himself over to the sensation like he had wanted to, desperately, in the club. The tile is cool against his shoulders, contrasting with the heat of the water and Jesse’s body surrounding him. Gabe lets his hands slide over Jesse’s shoulders, down his chest, coming to settle on his hips, thumb resting in the dip between muscle and bone. 

Gabe was an idiot to try to deny himself this. 

Jesse moves his mouth over Gabe’s jaw and neck, sucking warm kisses into his skin. Gabe tilts his head back to give him better access. 

“Mm - Jesse -” Gabe rumbles. His mouth falls open as Jesse’s teeth scrape lightly against the curve of his neck. 

“This okay?” Jesse asks against his skin. Gabe nods jerkily. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabe says, clutching at Jesse’s hips. He can feel Jesse’s lips curl against his skin in a smile and finds himself smiling too, a breathy laugh escaping his mouth. Jesse picks up his head. 

“Really?” Jesse asks. Gabe leans in and kisses him soundly. 

“Really.”

Gabe steps forward and presses Jesse back against the shower wall. Jesse goes easily, his eyes brightening. Gabe kisses him, hot and insistent. Jesse melts into it, letting Gabe press kisses over his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his chest. Gabe pauses. 

“Don’t stop now,” Jesse says, lifting a hand to card through Gabe’s wet hair. Gabe bites his lip then nods. Jesse’s giving him permission - Gabe can have this. He wants this. He sinks to his knees, slowly, keeping his eyes on Jesse’s face as he peppers kisses down his chest, his stomach, in that trail of hair leading down between Jesse’s legs. Jesse doesn’t look away, mouth open, lips swollen and pink. A little noise escapes Jesse’s mouth when Gabe wraps his lips around Jesse’s dick. 

Gabe lets his eyes slip closed as he slides his mouth down Jesse’s cock. He never let himself think about this, even when Jesse was grinding against him in the club - but it’s even better than he expected it to be. Jesse’s fingers clutch in Gabe’s hair, his hips twitching under Gabe’s hands. The little noises that Jesse is trying to stifle fill Gabe’s ears. He’s hard and hot and salty on Gabe’s tongue and Gabe couldn’t think of anything he wants more. He moans around Jesse’s dick, taking him deeper down his throat, his nose practically pressing into the hair on his stomach. 

“Gabe, Gabe, Gabe,” Jesse is breathing above him, voice going urgent, gasping. “God - please, don’t stop - Gabe,  _ Gabe _ -!”

Gabe feels Jesse’s cock twitch and spill onto his tongue. He doesn’t pull away but swallows around him. Jesse shudders. He tugs Gabe back up to kiss him deeply. 

“That was… that was…” Jesse murmurs against Gabe’s lips. “Gabe.”

“Good?”

“Real good,” Jesse says, finally pulling away and leaning back against the shower wall. He smiles at Gabe, lazy and sated, his eyes bright. It makes something go warm in Gabe’s chest. Gabe kisses Jesse softly, sweetly, just because he can. 

“I’m glad.”

=-=-=

The transport shuttle back to HQ is quiet, the strike team taking advantage of the down time to catch up on more sleep. Gabe moves back from the cockpit and takes a seat next to Jesse, nose buried in his tablet in an effort to appear more casual. Jesse picks up his head - he wasn’t actually sleeping, of course. 

“All good?” Jesse asks, voice low. Gabe looks up. 

“All good,” Gabe says. He worried that something would change between them, now that they’ve crossed a line they had both set for themselves - that it would become strained, awkward. But, if anything, Gabe feels closer to Jesse, safer. Jesse smiles at Gabe. That warm feeling in Gabe’s chest flares brighter. 

“On to the next one, then, huh?” Jesse says. He drops his hand between their seats, tangling his fingers with Gabe’s. Gabe finds himself returning the smile. He squeezes Jesse’s fingers with his own. 


End file.
